Few people know that Soviet officials might have deliberately destroyed the Chernobyl power station to cover up a disastrous nearby attempt to jam Western enemies’ communications. They’re even less likely to believe it when the advocate for this theory is a wild-eyed, tousle-haired Ukrainian artist named Fedor Alexandrovich, fascinated by a monotonous ‘woodpecker’ sound deployed by Soviet spies in the 1980s.

Chad Gracia’s peculiar documentary grafts together two apparently unrelated themes to spectacular effect: Fedor’s absurdist avant-garde commitment to making his art, versus his attempt to investigate what really happened in Chernobyl by talking to all manner of deceptive ex-Soviet bureaucrats. Almost by accident, Fedor and his devoted cinematographer uncover a secret world of spying and disregard for human life, all too relevant for them as Ukrainians rise up to resist Russian interference through anti-government protests.

Fedor scales the Chernobyl listening station. Photograph: Sundance

Gracia succeeds brilliantly in delivering a chilling warning about where Putin and his spooks might go next, by giving Fedor full licence to act the biblical prophet. Fedor prophesies doom from the Maidan stage one moment, then apparently exorcises Chernobyl’s demons the next by tramping round its gigantic listening structure whilst dressed in a handmade plastic suit. An instant classic documentary character, Fedor has the face of a silent-movie star, all bulging eyes and mannered delivery of historical “facts” when Gracia invites him to act the all-knowing documentary presenter.

The long shadow of Chernobyl

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What could be a mess is anything but as Fedor’s mysterious journey progresses, with his fantasies colliding with real dangerous politics, and Ukraine burning. The film’s power comes from its unusual fusion of art and activism, confounding expectations of a light tale of an eastern European eccentric with an ending that offers a sinister warning to the world that, under Putin, world war three is close. At times, Gracia struggles to keep up with Fedor, often running behind him as he runs amok, and at one point even following him on a spectacular climb to the top of Chernobyl’s listening post.

Some might find the film hard to follow, but it’s a rollicking ride of masterly narrative construction unlike any other documentary in Sundance. While some here attempt superficial answers to global crises, The Russian Woodpecker is a reminder that war is still raging in Ukraine. Whether he’s right or wrong about what happened in Chernobyl in the past, we would do well to heed Fedor’s complex and bizarre warnings for the future.